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Sleeping Configurations

I've check my numbers, oh I know, there's almost noooooobody reading this anymore.

Muahahahahahahahaha. Kitty wants to play. Unleashing all my inappropriate claws.

For those of you who did manage to find this post, you deserve a badge or something. Go ahead. Find a badge, and write on it "I've Stuck Through All Of Qinny's Crazy And Now Know Too Much" and wear it with pride.


The analytical side of my brain and the part that actually makes decisions for me are like rival siblings - both party knows what's going on with the other, but there's just no direct communication. Fact is, no matter what is physically happening to me, my brain is running on some crazy tangent that has zero first person perspective, I call that the ball of crazy. When I'm pushed to make any decisions, what to do, what to say, anything at all, that ball of crazy just disappears, leaving in its wake, nothing. My impulses are rooted in basically nothing, except for some rudimentary triggers of salivation or repulsion. Everything in between receives a well meaning "meh", and I do what's easiest. This is the point at which my inertia kicks in, i.e. I will continue in either my state of motion or inactivity until something external stops me.

The trick of making this all work for me is that my brain eventually catches up to my impulses, and the conversation goes something like this.

Brain: (out of breath) Hey! Hey... so this is happening.

Impulse: Yup.

Brain: Are we sure about this?

Impulse: Well we're going for it.

Brain: Alrighty then. On board.

See? It's a perfect circle scenario! I do shit, then I make my peace with it. Y'all don't even KNOW how easy going I can get.


I've been thinking about sexual economics. Not the sex trade, it's way too early in the morning for that, but just the basic exchange of goods and services involved. Goods, being goods, services, being services, but the currency being memories.

I have this blue lacey bra that has spent more time away from me than in my possession. A week after I bought it, I misplaced it somewhere in Queens. Later, a fro of mine (female bro, our codes date way back) who was playing hookie within the vicinity of where the bra was proudly being hung, she rescued it for me. After spending a happy 5-6 months reunited with it, it is right now, as we speak, tucked away somewhere in LA, with no plans of coming back to me. The next time I see it, I'll think of both times it ran away from me, and my fro, well she'll think about the time and events that facilitated her rescue mission.

Last night, as I gave a man who was taking a shower here a pair of boxers I had lying around, I thought about that day I had to wear those home because a boy had, in his fervor, torn my panties off. For almost 2 years now, each time I opened my panties drawer, I would see the boxers, and remember that night. Now I get to picture another body inside them, of another night. (He left them here this morning, so it's going to live in my panties drawer for a while longer.)


My brain had a lot of time to run tangents last night. My non-sleeping habits does not mesh well with other sleeping bodies. It's either time to make some coffee or take a nap.

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